


A Cold, Dark Room

by beaute_ephemere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 06:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14254983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaute_ephemere/pseuds/beaute_ephemere
Summary: He comes to her every night when she's in the dungeon.  She knows what he wants, but is powerless to resist.





	A Cold, Dark Room

**Author's Note:**

> HP Horror Fest 2018
> 
> #32  
> Prompt: He comes to her every night when she's in the dungeon. She knows what he wants, but is powerless to resist.  
> Suggested Character(s)/Pairing(s): Luna/any Death Eater  
> Any Optional Extras: Rape/non-con, with maybe a hint of Stockholm Syndrome.  
> Submitted By: LRThunder

Luna has been lying in this dungeon for days, alone in the dark. She’s been drinking from a slow trickle of water that spills from a hole in the wall, but with nothing to eat, she can feel herself wasting away. Sometimes, she can just about make out faint footsteps above her, and screams often echo off the damp walls, but no one has come for her. Yet. It is a small blessing in this hell, but solitude is becoming her curse. 

 

And then, she hears them. The voices are hushed, but she can tell they are getting closer. She presses herself against the cold stone wall, and she waits.

 

Their footsteps grow louder, and before long she glimpses a flicker of light. Squinting, she can make out three silhouettes at the end of her cell. One throws a morsel of bread onto the ground in front of her. All dignity long abandoned, she devours it hungrily.

 

“Get up,” says one of the silhouettes, his voice rough and cold.

 

Luna tries to push herself up, but her trembling hands slip on the damp stone. “He said get up, bitch,” another harsh voice snaps. “Crucio!” The pain hits her like a wave, engulfing her. She slips unconscious. When she wakes, she is alone again, but she can smell food. Dragging herself along the ground, she follows her nose, eventually finding what seems to be regurgitated oatmeal. She doesn’t care what it is, so long as she can eat it, and she licks every last drop from the bowl.

 

The next day, they come again. This time, there are only two of them, and one has another bowl of gruel.

 

“We’ve been given the green light on her,” says one, and Luna hears the other lick her lips. The bars to her cell rattle, but the first voice speaks again. “She’s half-dead already, Bella. You’ll fucking kill her. I don’t think the Dark Lord would be particularly pleased with that. Use your brain for once.”

 

“Fuck you,” the other, Bella, growls. Luna hears the clatter of the bowl against the floor, and then she listens to the two people’s fading footsteps. It is only once she is certain they are long gone that she manages to crawl to the front of the cell. Her hands tremble as she spoons the oatmeal into her mouth.

 

They come back everyday after that. They torture her for information about Harry, but her matted blonde hair and dull silver eyes hide a nerve of steel, and Luna doesn’t give anything up. She can almost bear it. She tells herself the time spent on her is time not spent on bringing down Harry and the Order.

 

Nighttime is a different story. That’s when he comes. She doesn’t know his name, but she can always recognise the sound of his footsteps on the stone floor. He enters her cell, his wand lighting up the dark dungeon and glinting off his silver mask. He binds her with a quick  _ Incarcerous _ before forcing himself upon her. She used to try and fight, but she has long since learned it is quicker when she doesn’t.

 

He pounds into her, and it hurts more than any curse. She feels broken, and when he leaves, she curls into a ball of pain, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. 

 

After a long time alone, when weeks become months of imprisonment, things begin to shift. She knows he always comes, and it’s the one stable thing in her life. After a long time, when even the pain of the Cruciatus Curse seems to dull, she feels a little relieved, a little grateful when he leaves her shattered on the damp ground, that she is still alive enough to feel pain. 

 

After months of torture, Luna still hasn’t given up any information, and she holds onto that knowledge like it’s her salvation. It’s her final piece of dignity, the last thing they can’t take from her. She hides all she knows in the cracks of her mind, and she covers it with layers upon layers of Nargles and fairytales. 

 

She’s come close to giving things away, sometimes. She might have, if her nighttime visitor was a better Legilimens. But he isn’t, and that is all that matters. 

 

Luna is sure she’s going to die soon. She senses that the Death Eaters are beginning to lose hope in her as a source of intelligence, and she knows they’ll dispose of her when they no longer see her as useful. She is reconciled with her fate, and almost yearns for the sweet release of nothingness. 

 

Hence, she isn’t surprised when no one visits her for a few days.  _ It’s time _ , she thinks. _ It will be a quiet death, a gentle passage from a state of barely being alive to not being alive at all.  _ She closes her eyes, and thinks of nothing.

 

She is surprised, however, when she hears footsteps on the cold stone floor once again.  _ His _ footsteps. Her eyes fly open, and she instinctively presses her skeletal body against the back of her cell. When he appears, he is missing his mask. The dim light from his wand lights up his face, from his dark stubble to his cruel eyes. She recognises him.  _ Gregory Goyle _ . And somehow, everything is suddenly worse. She is retching, trying to evacuate the contents of her already empty stomach. 

 

“Relax,” he spits. “I won’t touch you.”

 

She looks up again, and notices he isn’t wearing his Death Eater robes, either. No, he is wearing a light blue shirt and a faded pair of jeans. Without even understanding why, Luna begins to cry. She feels the familiar probe of Legilimency as Goyle attempts to exploit her sudden weakness, and she tries to concentrate on her mental barriers when she suddenly realises why she’s crying.

 

Blue was Harry’s favorite colour.

 

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, she hears a low laugh from the end of her cell.

 

“Finally,” Goyle growls, and by the time she looks up, he’s gone.

 

Unbeknownst to her,  Harry Potter, final hope of the Order of the Phoenix, is captured the next day. As per usual, he was travelling with a group of people all Polyjuiced to look like him, but, to the great surprise of everyone involved, was recognised by Gregory Goyle. “He was the only one wearing blue,” he explained.

 

After that, no one comes to visit her.   _ It’s time _ , she thinks, but the thought isn’t as relieving as it once was. After a week of solitude, she notices that the others’ screams have stopped. She notices how deafening the silence is, and something breaks. She doesn’t want to die. So she screams until her vocal chords bleed, but no one comes. Her final words are almost inaudible, a whispered prayers to whoever may hear them.

 

“ _ Please _ .”


End file.
